


Hold me down

by withered



Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [53]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Asthma, Bucky and the Soldier, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Russian Bucky Barnes, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Barnes, with apparently no memory of who he was before he was defrosted from Hydra's freezer, remembers how to deal with a brat with asthma.Except now, Tony is that brat.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [53]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/918138
Comments: 177
Kudos: 1953





	Hold me down

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on tumblr had a bunch of headcanons for asthmatic Tony, and I couldn't find the post again, but this one's for you!
> 
> Also, I don't experience asthma myself so all descriptions, etc is derived purely from google-fu

Barnes doesn’t like being touched.

It’s hardly a surprising revelation given his history, but Rogers isn’t as bright as he likes to think he is.

And while Tony’s aware that Rogers would know his best friend better, who Barnes is now isn’t the guy Rogers remembers if the reports that proceeded their arrival from the palace are any indication.

Not that Rogers cares.

The captain doesn’t seem all that interested in anything that doesn’t suit his agenda nowadays, and Barnes’ decision to exclusively speak Russian definitely does not help.

And while Tony’s waiting with bated breath for Barnes to rip Rogers’ arm off and take it for his own, Tony loathes the thought of the paperwork he’d have to do.

For the sake of his sanity, he doesn’t get involved. Can’t. Not when Tony’s horse in the race involves Barnes winning.

Which should say something about the state of his life that Tony wants Barnes – _Bucky Barnes_ , the Winter Soldier, the Fist of Hydra, _the murderer of his parents_ – to win against the symbol of American patriotism, and one of Howard Stark’s greatest creations. But life after Afghanistan and a Siberian bunker changes one’s perspective if you let it, and Tony hadn’t really had the option _not to._

Nonetheless, catching the minute little twitches in Barnes’ expression: the tick at his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow, the subtle flex of the arm that Rogers is grabbing is giving Tony heart palpitations.

Because.

Because.

He just got the walls painted in here. The carpet is. _It’s new._

And their wing of the Compound isn’t exactly homey, but it’s state of the art, and has people situated a floor below them right now – civilian and official personnel both – minding their business, completely unaware that someone could be thrown through the floor at any second.

Tony designed the building himself, but it might not hold against a battle royale of Super Soldier proportions. At least not from the inside. He’s only really tested the Compound’s durability on the outside anyway with the confidence that enemies wouldn’t be able to infiltrate it without triggering other security measures which is clearly a blind spot he should’ve accounted for but didn’t because he hoped.

_He hoped._

For any other circumstance, the Compound has panic protocols, safe zones, sectional lockdowns with overrides and manual switches for all of it in case – in case. There are sections of the Compound that can take Brucie with a big green sized tantrum, but it would’ve been a waste of resources to Hulk-proof the entire property when Bruce and his alter ego were pretty simpatico after the whole “Revengers” adventure, which was fine. It was.

Because Super Soldiers were a different kettle of fish altogether and. Tony hadn’t thought he’d ever have to worry about the Rogues being back.

He’d hoped he never had to deal with them again.

But well.

Hope’s never _not_ taken something from him every time he had it. It’s only fair he’d have to sacrifice his peace of mind and personal sense of safety for the greater good. It’s the least Tony can do for all the sins he’s committed.

So what if he can’t breathe easy anymore? It’s not like struggling to breathe has ever been new to him.

If it wasn’t his anxiety attacks in MIT, or the waterboarding in that cave, or the arc reactor digging into his chest cavity, or the vacuum of space sucking up the oxygen in his lungs, or the shield coming _down-down-down_ it was, it was.

His stuttering exhale comes out in a wheeze, the muscles around his ribs tightening in a squeeze because the human body is incredibly intelligent but also incredibly stupid. Not that Tony could really blame an automatic biological response.

How was his body supposed to know that his lungs are garbage at being lungs?

Fuck.

Why did he choose today to forget to carry his inhaler?

Tony gets the sense that the Rogues, at least, are getting out of his way as he hastily makes his exit.

He knows the first step to treating an asthma attack is to stay calm but. The step that would make him feel calm is to get away from the trigger: the reality of the Rogues’ return, the bullshit of his own life.

But Tony will settle for getting away right now.

Right now is good enough.

But Tony’s always been a spoilt brat, and good enough isn’t actually _good enough_ because now he’s stressed about the fact that he doesn’t have his inhaler. And fuck, he hopes that if he passes out in the elevator that it isn’t Pep or any of the kids that come across him.

And that thought makes him stress out more because, _god, the kids_ –

A metal hand grabs his arm, and Tony’s surprised inhale clashes against his teeth, makes his chest tighten like all the internal organs in there are being clenched in a fist.

Tony can’t tell anymore if he’s having an asthma attack or a panic attack.

Tugged down to sitting in the hallway lobby just in front of the elevator, Barnes’ arms looped beneath his armpits so his palms are hooked over Tony’s shoulders, Barnes gently eases Tony’s body into a slight backward arch so the breadth of his chest is stretched out, so his lungs don’t feel so claustrophobic.

Tony’s body has never quite recovered from the first blast to the chest, and everything after hasn’t helped.

His lung capacity is pathetic. He’s almost used to occasionally losing feeling in his toes.

With Barnes’ chest flush against Tony’s back, he can feel Barnes’ exaggerated breathes, a silent prompting to take deeper inhales.

Tony doesn’t struggle against him. Even if he wanted to fight Barnes off, he couldn’t do it emotionally comprised in the Iron Man suit so Tony’s got no chance in hell in a regular Tom Ford with his lungs being useless. At the very least, deoxygenated or not, he can still do the basic math to this problem.

Besides, if Barnes wanted to end him right here, he could’ve. Even Friday wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop Barnes from snapping his neck right now.

But Barnes. Isn’t doing that.

Sitting behind Tony as he is, his kneecaps pressing into Tony’s lower back, Barnes’ arms are sure and secure around his arms so that his shoulders and Tony’s are pressed against each other. He's a warm, solid presence, angling and supporting his body posture to stay open to put less pressure on Tony’s chest. The gentle, but forceful push of Barnes’ breathing against Tony’s back mimicking the action to empty and fill his lungs for Tony to repeat again and again and again.

Eventually, once his chest doesn’t hurt as much, and his breath doesn’t whistle as often, Barnes murmurs against his ear, “I’ve got you.”

Tony startles out of the strange trance he’s been placed under, his breath hitching as his fists curl reflexively on either side of him. His voice rough from the strain; Tony means it, from the very bottom of his heart when he mutters, “What the fuck.”

He shouldn’t be surprised that Barnes isn’t forthcoming with any explanations of the hows and whys of what to do in the event of an asthma attack.

Because besides not liking being touched (allegedly?), Barnes isn’t much of a talker anyway.

But thanks to The Incident, as Tony mentally refers it to, he’s become increasingly aware of Barnes’ _interest_ for a lack of a better word.

Tony doesn’t make it a habit to interact with the residents of the West Wing, but as a result of Fury’s special brand of enthusiasm regarding the Rogues’ rehabilitation and reintegration with the rest of the newly appointed Avengers, Tony sees them more often than he’d like to which means _Barnes_ sees him more than he should.

Tony doesn’t quite know why the Super Soldier has taken it upon himself to watch Tony the way he does – and he is, watching that is.

Because Tony is aware of all the ways people see him: in between the shades of wariness, annoyance, and amusement, there’s always suspicion, and with the Rogues, and everyone else of their ilk, it’s always with a sense of derision.

Barnes. Doesn’t look at him like that.

It’s not completely unfamiliar, he thinks. Rhodey’s looked at him like that enough times. Pepper. Happy. Harley. Peter, ever since he found out about what really happened to Tony in that bunker two years ago.

They look at him like they’re afraid for him, like they’re worried. Concerned; anxious. But they’re his family, and Barnes shouldn’t be looking at Tony like that.

It was just one asthma attack.

Tony’s experienced some of the worst things a person can, and he’s proven again and again, that he won’t break for it.

Though, he often wonders when he’ll reach the threshold. When he’ll just _snap_. 

Barnes seems to think it’ll happen every time Tony’s in the same room with the Rogues as he practically leaps into action whenever Tony so much as clears his throat, or the one-time Barnes almost stabbed Maximoff when she got too close and Tony had visibly paled.

Though maybe Barnes is only this high alert because that’s the only time Tony and Barnes ever really see each other: during lectures on “proper protocol” and “the political climate and you” that Fury and Hill make them all sit through for an hour or two every other week along with everyone else who’s cleared for duty in the Avenger roster.

It’s good practice at least, in how to handle people watching you the way Barnes does him.

Though _why_ Barnes does it remains a mystery, and Tony doesn’t think he really wants to know the answer anyway; truth be told. Any explanation he has points to either guilt or gratitude, and he’s interested in neither.

When -- during a thirty-minute break for lunch at one of the many lectures they’re expected to attend whenever they’re present at the Compound -- Tony tells him so, Barnes only inclines his head in acknowledgment. Then proceeds to take the entire spread of fluffy omelets Tony had been eying, and retreats to the back of the room to mechanically shovel it into his mouth.

“Eggs are bad for asthma,” Friday interjects when Tony opens his mouth to argue, and that’s just.

Fucking obsessive Super Soldiers, he growls to Hope, Rhodey and Carol’s laughter.

And while Barnes is almost serene about garnering Tony’s ire for the sake of his continued protection of Tony _from Tony_ , it certainly changes the dynamics with the Rogues. Especially since most, if not all the new Avengers, seem to approve of Barnes’ behavior in spite of Tony’s half-hearted complaints, and are several degrees warmer to Barnes than they are to the other West Wing residents.

Though that may be because Barnes, now deemed acceptable by Friday, is allowed to shadow Tony, and gets the kids thrown at him whenever Tony’s juggling way too many things at once:

“Just point the fire extinguisher at them, and you’ll be fine,” Tony instructs, and at the half-panicked, half-reproachful look on Barnes’ face, Tony waves the truly terrible stack of paperwork he’s acquired since he’d walked in, and says, “I will literally just be signing these for the next half hour, and I’ll be sitting right here. You’ll do great.”

The kids, of course, take to Barnes’ stoic grumpiness like white on rice.

And when Vision decides he wants a garden, and Friday declares that succulents are wonderful, _they clear the air and are therefore good for people who suffer from asthma,_ Barnes gets a look in his eye. Less than three days later, aloe veras, snake plants, and warneckiis appear in every corner he turns.

Barnes looks almost ruthlessly satisfied. No one will stop giving Tony shit about it.

As a result, Maximoff and Barton sulk and spit sarcastic comments like a pair of teenaged Siamese twins.

Lang looks miserable by the day – though he tries to put up a happy face, if only so he can puppy dog pout at Hope.

Wilson doesn’t know what to do with himself now that the veneer of Captain America’s historical significance has worn off, and Wilson is forced to contemplate the consequences of his present-day actions.

Romanoff seems to regularly flit between poking at the vulnerabilities she’s already exposed of Tony, and trying to improve the Rogues’ standing with the other residences of the Compound once it became clear that the lines in the sand had been drawn like fissures in the earth, and her reputation for backstabbing was not looked on kindly.

Rogers, on the other hand, routinely tries to re-establish his position as team leader with all the self-righteous bravado that makes up his brand as Captain America. Something Carol has no patience for, resulting in another lecture on “the proper chain of command”, and unimpressed side-eyes from the rest of the roster.

With Barnes unwilling to play his dutiful sidekick, Rogers just keeps on taking hit after hit which is probably why he actually deigns to speak to Tony at the next lecture a week later, to say, “He only cares because he remembers taking care of me.”

Squinting a glare at Barnes for the ginger tea he’d replaced Tony’s coffee with while he wasn’t looking, Tony deadpans, “I thought you were on your own since you were eighteen.” Making Wilson almost choke around the muffin he’d been eating.

While Rogers had intended it to be a passive-aggressive _just so you know,_ the revelation of Barnes’ mother hen tendencies is enlightening, and also, frankly, _bullshit._

There’s no way a man who’s been more weapon than person still retains the softer sentiments of his life post-Hydra, an argument that Tony takes to even with Barnes' arms around Tony to pull his shoulders back and then guide his inhaler to his mouth. In an episode that was only required because the circuit board caught on fire and smoke is Very Not Good for his shitty lungs, Tony reclines against Barnes as he sucks in a proper breath and accuses, “Your kill count rivals the death toll of a natural disaster.”

As always, Barnes replies in Russian, “You say the nicest things.”

“You shouldn’t be nice,” Tony finds himself protesting, too tired to get up from Barnes’ embrace especially when Barnes is still technically holding him up.

“I’m not.”

Tony makes a disbelieving noise. Mistaking the sound for his lungs still giving him shit, Barnes presses the side of his palm down on Tony’s diaphragm as if to flatten it, cupping the bottom of the arc reactor as a result. Tony’s breath stutters against his lips. “What’s your obsession with my asthma attacks?”

“Maybe I just like to think I take your breath away.”

The noise he makes now is caught between a hysterical laugh and a shout. Reluctantly delighted Tony insists, “You did not just do this for a shitty one-liner.”

“Title of your biography.”

At that, Tony outright guffaws. “Oh, you think you’re real slick, don’t you?”

“Bucky does.”

His humor fizzles, and a glance over his shoulder to meet Barnes’ eye leads to nothing but Barnes pointedly avoiding his gaze. Though, eventually with Tony’s stare uncomprehending, Barnes admits, “Bucky, the me from before,” he corrects stiltedly, “he remembers doing it – helping – with the asthma episodes.”

And okay.

Okay.

Maybe.

Maybe Rogers had a point?

“Is Bucky in there? With…current you?”

Pressed so close together, Tony feels the warmth of Barnes' flush against his skin, the racing thump-thump-thump against his back, and in English this time, Barnes – _Bucky_ mumbles, “Sometimes.”

Fuck, Rogers was right.

Feeling the nervous way Bucky or Barnes – the Soldier? – thumbs at the ridge of the arc reactor through his shirt, Tony clears his throat and spares him – them? – his rising curiosity, directs his gaze forward, and asks, “So you decided to help me with my asthma attacks.”

“Helping is better than breaking,” is the reply in Russian.

“Why me,” Tony asks, “why help me?”

Quietly, it's Bucky who replies, “Because you needed it.”

And in Russian, murmured against the curls of Tony’s hair as if he’s afraid to let them be heard, Barnes adds, “Because I wanted to be good.”

“Wanting to be good is at least fifty percent of it,” Tony approves.

At that, the words curl with a slight smile, “Bucky says the same.”

It's Bucky who adds, “The other fifty is doing something about it.”

Tony muses, “And that’s why you help me...”

“I’m good when I’m taking care of you.” Then, hand fluttering and restless like a butterfly on Tony’s chest, Barnes clears his throat. “Will you let me?”

“Help me,” Tony asks, “or be good?” Without waiting, he elaborates, “Because if it’s the first – I won’t stop you – I don’t know if you know this, but I’m spoilt, Barnes, I love me some personal care and attention. I will not refuse that even when I bitch about it. But if it’s the second – no problem. I’ve got experience enough for a lifetime in _choosing to be good_ , and bonus! You won’t have to feel obligated to keep being nice to me and –”

“Helping you and being good is the same thing,” Bucky interjects, and that’s. Well.

The star in his chest glows through Tony’s shirt, through the gaps of their intertwined fingers, and Tony breathes a little easier as he exhales, “Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know I say this a lot, but what the hell am I doing?
> 
> By the way, if you'd like to get the pdf to the series, you can do so [here](https://everythingwithered.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/whos-been-lovin-you-good/).


End file.
